She had other boyfriends and hung out at Foster’s only bar most of the time. She came to adore them. The day was so darkly overcast that she had to turn on the small white porcelain lamp that sat upon the makeup crowded vanity. “I am a fool,” he said. How do you like the story?” “Go on,” said Ann Veronica, a little hoarsely, “tell me all of it. “You must do more than think of it,” he urged.
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